


Rescue

by cathalin



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Coming Out, First Time, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has always tried to blend in. Originally posted in <a href="http://cathalin.livejournal.com/175435.html">my journal</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Detailed warnings/content notes for multiple items related to lgbt issues are in the footer, below. If reading discussion/treatment of these issues this might hurt you, please read the more detailed warnings at the foot of the story. (Having said that, all such content is references/vague, not explicit or detailed).
> 
>  **A/N:** Written for [THIS PROMPT](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html?thread=1035661#t1035661) at the xmen_firstkink meme. The prompt was, _ANGST. I want one of them to be homophobic and repressed, feeling all guilty and torn up about his attraction to the other._ Originally posted [HERE](http://cathalin.livejournal.com/175435.html) in my journal.

“While you’re at it,” the General says. “We have another little job we’d like you to do. Won’t take any of your time, while you’re already, you know, in people's heads.” He smiles jovially.

“Alright, certainly,” Charles says.

“We don’t need you to find all of them for now. Just the ones in powerful positions, positions to influence people. Politicians. Teachers, obviously.” He brushes a tiny piece of lint off his uniform sleeve and his mouth purses in distaste. His brow wrinkles and he looks back at Charles, intense now. “Military. Not that there _are_ any -- disgusting idea -- but just in case. ”

Charles nods. Perhaps something in his expression is off, because the General adds, “Oh, not for anything terrible. We’re not going to hurt them or anything. Just get them help. And get them out of positions where they could influence people.” He leans forward. “Though, I do wonder... With all the work going on now on mutations and genetics, I imagine it’s quite possible to treat it medically.”

In the elevator after he’s left, Charles notices that his hands are curled into fists. His nails have left indentations in the palms of his hands. He uncurls them one finger at a time and counts the floors to the lobby.

~ ~ ~

“Checkmate.” Erik leans back and smiles at Charles over the board. “Well, that’s rare! Distracted tonight, are we?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, no, not at all. Just...” He loses his train of thought momentarily, eyes caught in the golden lamplight tangled in the strands of Erik’s hair, the elegant sweep of his cheekbones.

He catches himself and darts his eyes back to Erik’s. Erik is smiling, a smile Charles doesn’t recognize. His expression is gentle. “Charles...”

Charles stands up abruptly. The movement knocks a number of chess piece to the floor. “Sorry, I. I’m exhausted. See you in the morning.”

He feels Erik’s eyes on him, all the way across the carpet, through the door.

~ ~ ~

He shouts at Hank after their training, then Raven when she asks a question. He goes back to their training course later to run again, forcing himself faster and faster, until all he can feel is the hammering of his heart, his lungs laboring for breath.

When he returns to his room that evening after his bath, Erik is waiting for him, sitting in his customary chair, chess board all set up.

“Not tonight,” Charles snaps, throwing himself down into his chair thoughtlessly. “Not a good idea.”

“I’m not afraid of your anger,” Erik says softly -- more softly than Charles is used to hearing him speak. “I’m not afraid of any part of you.” Erik is staring straight at Charles, challenging.

Charles stares right back. “You should be. You bloody well should be.”

“What did they ask you to do?” Erik leans forward. His sleeves are rolled up, leaving his forearms bare. They ripple with muscle. His long fingers are splayed on the arms of the chair.

Charles shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s--” He can’t speak, throat closing up.

There’s a sudden, violent movement. The chess set is pushed to the floor and Erik scoots forward off his chair and onto the table so he’s right in front of Charles’s chair. “Listen to me, Charles,” he says, low, demanding attention. “I don’t want to be right about them. I don’t want to be.” He says that as if it has anything to do with Charles, anything to do with what he’s--

Charles doesn’t recognize the sound that comes out of him. It’s harsh, twisted up. Like what crying would be, if he did that. He doesn’t. He doesn’t cry, because if he started....

Strong arms pull him in. He resists for a moment, but Erik whispers, “It’s okay, you can’t, everything, not always, it’s okay,” a steady stream of nonsense, and Charles clings back, runs his hands over the strong, broad muscles of Erik’s back, buries his face in his shoulder.

Even so -- even so -- he hangs on tight to his mind, doesn’t think anything, doesn’t reach to find out what Erik’s thinking.

Eventually, he pulls away. “Thank you,” he manages, voice rough. “I’m sorry. I appreciate--”

“Charles,” Erik murmurs. “Don’t.”

“I have to. I need to sleep now,” Charles says as matter-of-factly as possible, standing and grabbing his toothbrush. “Very tired, you know.”

Erik stares at him, then stands, slowly. “Alright.” He walks slowly toward the door, looks back once he’s almost out. Charles pulls the toothbrush into his chest like a shield. “Alright, then,” Erik says, and leaves.

~ ~ ~

“How’s that little side project going?” the General asks, after their latest meeting on mutant recruitment and defense.

“Quite a list,” Charles says, managing a smile.

“Well, let’s get going with it.” The General looks at him expectantly.

“Oh. I... I don’t have it with me, but I can certainly...”

“I get it. Wouldn’t want to have to carry it around in your head!” the General laughs. “Not the kind of thing you want to have to think about all the time, I totally understand. Send it on over with a courier. You don’t need to worry about the rest. We’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Are you alright?” The General leans forward solicitously. “You look a bit red. Need water or something? Or something stronger, haha!”

Charles stands. “I’m fine, thank you. I’ll get that over to you, yes, of course, I--” He swallows and walks out. Walks and walks. He doesn’t know where he’s going, what he wants.

~ ~ ~

His feet know where to take him. This bar will be perfect. He’s just... needing some company. Some female companionship. He’s been coming here off and on for years, and it’ll be just the thing. It’s been too long since he’s had sex, had a beautiful woman in his arms.

Given his life, it’s never made sense to make room for a real relationship, so a place like this, full of people looking for a brief encounter -- it’s perfect. After a few drinks, his come-ons don’t sound so lame to his own ears, and there’s a gorgeous dark haired girl who seems fascinated with genetics hanging on his arm. He keeps on drinking -- it feels so good, the oblivion of alcohol, and she’s got her hand on his thigh, suggests getting out of there.

They’re in the alley and it’s probably disgusting but he doesn’t care, because everything’s all sparkly with the rum. Her hand’s on his cock -- he can say that, cock -- in his own head, and her skin is smooth and bare under his hands. Maybe too smooth... he wonders, what would different skin feel like under his hands. Darker skin. Strong muscles and long fingers...

He tries to stop them, the thoughts. Those thoughts. But he can’t. So drunk. Hands on him.

 _Erik_ , he thinks, when he comes.

Even his self-loathing doesn’t allow him to just leave. He finishes the girl off, sees her safely back inside, mumbling excuses.

~ ~ ~

He stumbles home and up to his room.

Erik is sitting there, waiting for him.

“Get out.” Something curls tight in Charles’s stomach. “Get out!” He yells, like he never does.

“If you’re going to broadcast your thoughts all over the city, I think I get to be here.” Erik throws Charles a towel. ‘Take a shower. Then take the aspirin.” He nods over at Charles’s bedside table, where there’s a glass of water and some pills.

He’s gone when Charles comes out.

~ ~ ~

“Got our first batch in,” the General says at the end of his phone call. “They won’t be spreading their perversions any more, I can tell you that much!”

“How--” Charles’s throat constricts.

“Well, you know how it is. The FBI had a list of suspects. But we need your list now.” A new note enters his voice. “It seems like it’s taking you a long time to get it to us. Is there a problem?”

“No, no. No problem.” Charles hangs up and sits in his study staring at the phone for a very long time.

~ ~ ~

They still play chess. They just don’t talk any more.

Tonight, Charles is more distracted than ever. He has the list -- the first one -- of names and locations. The girl in Amarillo. The young man in Boston. The older ladies in Dayton. The middle aged guy in Sacramento. Hundreds -- thousands -- of others

It’s in his pocket. He keeps fiddling with it while they play.

Finally, Erik sighs. “Stop. Just, stop. You’re not focusing at all. You’re miles away.”

“I...” Charles can’t speak. He just shakes his head.

“You’re the one who told me I wasn’t alone. That we weren’t alone,” Erik says, suddenly passionate. “You have to stop this. Whatever it is. Being so alone.”

Charles raises his eyes to Erik and just shakes his head.

After a long minute, Erik stands to leave. “You know this, but,” he says just as he’s walking out. “You can come to me any time.”

~ ~ ~

He sits for a long time, staring at the notebook he’s written the names and locations in.

He buries his head in his hands. The notebook falls to the floor.

There are two names, at least, not written there.

Charles fights it more, longer, long into the night, but he can’t--It’s like he’s made of metal, drawn to him inexorably. It’s just. He can’t, any more.

~ ~ ~

“You came,” Erik murmurs, waking up when Charles sits on the edge of his mattress in the dark room. “I didn’t think--”

“I’m--Did I misunderstand? Do you not--?”

Erik sits up in one fluid motion. His chest is bare, and even in the faint light leaking in from the light under the door, Charles sees the strength in his torso. “I do,” Erik says. “Very much.” He reaches a hand up to Charles’s face, cups his cheek.

Charles turns into it reflexively. It feels like he’s coming apart from the inside. Erik’s eyes are kind on him. “Have you, before?” he whispers.

“Never,” Charles says. “An admission as ridiculous as it is difficult to make,” he adds, trying for his usual wry delivery.

“You,” Erik says softly, cupping both of Charles’s cheeks in his hands -- so gently -- “could never be ridiculous.”

Charles chuckles. “I think you yourself would beg to differ, most of the time.”

Erik smiles. “Perhaps.” His eyes flick down to Charles’s mouth. “May I--?”

Charles laughs outright. “After the other night, my thoughts bleeding out all over the place, you need to ask?” As if to belie his laughter, he feels his cheeks burning, remembering.

“I think...” Erik takes a deep breath and meets Charles’s gaze. There’s something solemn and wonderful and frightening in his eyes. “I think people should always ask. Just as I think there’s nothing they shouldn’t ask for, if they want it.”

Charles gasps, a half-choked sound. The part of him that’s unraveling is spinning faster; it’s like pieces of himself -- what he’s tried to make himself believe is himself -- are flying off into the air.

“I want--” He can’t. His throat is closed and he can’t--

“You’re shaking,” Erik says, infinitely gentle, cupping Charles’s hands in his. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of _you_.” Charles says, throat so tight he can hardly get the words out.

“I know,” Erik says, and leans in.

Charles swallows and meets him, leaning forward and touching his lips to his; a sweet press.

He can’t do this and control his thoughts -- it’s like they’re part of the pieces flying off of him, unraveling like a spool rolling faster and faster down a hill. If he doesn’t slow it down, doesn’t stop it, he’ll fall off the cliff at the bottom and fall, fall, or fly...

 _Then fly._ Erik kisses up his jaw, whispers. “Let go. I’ll catch you.”

Charles sucks in a breath and leans in again, and this time, he opens his mouth on Erik, kisses him, kisses him, more, harder. He scoots forward until he’s almost on top of him, then lets himself fall...

He’s in Erik’s arms and they’re wrapped up together and the feel of him -- corded muscle under taut skin, stubble rough on his cheek, long fingers gentling him -- it’s almost enough: he’s surrounded in the feel of a man, a _man_ in his arms.

He’s desperate for it, suddenly, and it’s humiliating. He feels so young... He should have done this a decade ago, if not before: John, his friend in grammar school, with the beautiful curls; Peter, his tutor in college; countless others before and since.

“Charles.” Erik’s voice. Then, when Charles can’t stop the whirling thoughts, “Charles!”

Charles pulls up and looks down at Erik. Erik smiles at him and it’s so full of--

 _Yes._ Then, rueful: “It seems we’ve both been in denial about something.”

Charles takes a breath and lets himself look. Erik, spread out under him, smiling up at him, seemingly willing to give him--

 _Whatever you need._

And now Erik sounds almost... shy?

Erik shrugs. “I’ve had sex so many times. But never when it was so--” he presses his lips together. “Important,” he settles on.

“Me, neither,” Charles is then able to say. “Show me?”

“What do you want me to show you?” Erik asks, hands starting to stroke down Charles’s shoulders, his arms.

Charles shudders. “Everything.” He leans down and kisses Erik until they’re both breathless, letting his hands explore his body. It’s like being on fire; like being lit up from inside. Maybe he’s not coming apart; maybe he’s being put back together whole, fused in this fire he’s denied himself so long.

Erik gasps. “I felt that.”

“More,” Charles murmurs into the shell of Erik’s ear. “More, all of it.”

Erik’s chest heaves as their zippers come undone while Charles works on their buttons. They’re still half dressed but it doesn’t matter; Charles cants his hips and pushes down and Erik pushes up, tongues intertwined. They come at the same time, and even though they’re a mess, they draw each other closer, pulling each other tighter and tighter in, clutching like they're rescuing each other from the ocean.

Even though it seems impossible, it doesn’t take long until their bodies demand more. _Again. More_ , Charles says in his head. “Show me.”

Erik does, all night and into the morning, until it’s not clear who’s showing what to who, until Erik feels just as overwhelmed and unmade as Charles does.

~ ~ ~

After his bath, Charles gets dressed carefully. He’s not going to do this looking like the sloppy professor he knows most government officials believe him to be.

“What is it? Charles?” Erik looks at him suspiciously.

“Just something I need to handle,” Charles says. “Won’t take but a few minutes, then I’ll be back.”

Erik watches him as he walks out, then walks over to the trash can where Charles has stuffed a notebook. He pulls it out and sits down with it to look it over.

~ ~ ~

The General looks up, surprised, when Charles walks in. “Well, hello, Professor! To what do we owe this--”

Something on Charles’s face must clue him in to the fact this is no polite visit and he subsides, then frowns. “Did you bring the list... finally?”

Charles smiles. Or at least he thinks it’s a smile. Perhaps it’s not quite a comforting smile: the General sits back in his chair and stares at him.

“Do you know what I could do to you with my mind?” Charles asks, conversationally.

The General’s eyes widen, but he visibly pulls himself together. “What’s the meaning of this,” he rumbles.

“The meaning of this, hmmm.” Charles smiles, remembering Erik’s hands on him this morning, gentle yet passionate. “I’d say the meaning is whatever you decide it is. But I’ll ask again. Do you know what I could do to you with my mind?”

“I have an idea,” the General says, reluctantly.

“Good! Then you’ll understand what I mean when I say, I could do anything to you with my mind. I could wipe it clean and leave you drooling. I could implant other memories there so you’d be sure you committed treason. I could move your finger to the trigger of your gun at any time, from any distance.”

He lets that sink in for a moment, then: _Are we clear?_

“Y-Yes. But why are you--?” The General presses on his temples like he’s in pain.

“Oh, so sorry, do you have a headache?” Charles asks, making it clear he’s not sorry at all. He forces himself to unclench his hands where they’ve balled into fists. He feels his brain aching to spin off power, just bleed a tiny fraction of his loneliness for all those years, the pain of all the others, reviled and spat on and--

 _Charles..._ Erik’s voice, warning. _I know you want to hurt him_

 _Yes_ , Charles spits back at him. _And why shouldn’t I. He’s disgusting._. He can feel it, all the rage, gathering in a tight ball inside him, a force that wants to lash out, to hurt, to--

 _He’s probably just following orders._

 _Fuck you,_ Charles snarls telepathically back at Erik, but it breaks the tension in his head and the rage isn’t blinding, precisely, any more.

The General is open-mouthed, hands gripping at his desk.

Charles takes a deep breath. “I’m going to say this once. There will be no further finding of homosexuals, lesbians, anyone else who doesn’t fit your little mold. You will release those you already have. Are we clear? Or do I make sure of it?”

The General coughs. “We’re clear.”

Charles doesn’t even bother looking into his mind to see whether he’s being duplicitous.

~ ~ ~

He retrieves the list from Erik and burns it in the fireplace that night. The flames echo the fire in his own veins, the heat singing through him.

“Thank you for today,” he says as he climbs into bed with Erik. “You saved me from having blood on my hands.”

“Mmm,” Erik says, blanketing him with his own, decidedly male, body.

“Yet, that is. Blood on my hands _yet_. Because if they’ll do that, they’ll do anything, so...”

“We’ll try everything else first, if you’ll just keep coming to my bed,” Erik promises.

“Oh what a sacrifice,” Charles laughs -- finally, it’s been a long day -- finding Erik’s mouth.

“The things we do for perversion,” Erik says.

“I like the sound of that.” Charles nips at his neck and Erik moans. “Go ahead, pervert me.”

“I don’t even think that’s possible, having had a few glimpses into your fevered brai--Ow!” Erik laughs as Charles’s teeth sink deeper.

“You have no idea,” Charles says, sliding down Erik’s body.

“Oh, I think I have some--ahhhh.” Erik lapses into half-broken German, then goes nonverbal.

They don’t speak in words for a very long time. They don’t have to.

~ ~ ~

If anyone notices a pattern of strange, comforting messages showing up in the mailboxes of a few select, non-mutant people across the country -- a girl in Amarillo, a young man in Boston, two older ladies in Dayton, a middle aged guy in Sacramento -- if anyone notices, they never say anything.

The messages are simple: _We’ll keep you safe. You are beautiful just the way you are_ and finally, scrawled by hand at the end:

 _You are not alone_.

 

~ ~ The End ~ ~

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Story includes homophobia, hate speech, references to hypothetical genetics related experiments/treatments, references to oppression and persecution of glbt people.


End file.
